Quotes About Youth

But now I am six. And I'm clever as clever. And now I think I'll stay six now forever and ever.

We didn't know we were making memories, we were just having fun

No one can write a book which children will like, unless he write it for himself first. – A. A. Milne

Mark sighed to himself as he walked home. The afternoon was unexpectedly warm, the sky deep blue and cloudless. You figure her out, he told himself. You're the expert. Mark Carney, girl expert. Everyone should ask me for advice. I know everything about girls, except how to get along with them, how to get along without them, and how to understand them. And I can't even worry about Marcy right now because I've got a date with Janine.

I am sure it is one's duty as a teacher to try to show boys that no opinions, no tastes, no emotions are worth much unless they are one's own. I suffered acutely as a boy from the lack of being shown this.

Loveliest of trees, the cherry nowIs hung with bloom along the bough.

The lads that will die in their glory and never be old.

By brooks too broad for leapingThe lightfoot boys are laid.

When I was one-and-twentyI heard a wise man say,"Give crowns and pounds and guineasBut not your heart away."

When I was one-and-twentyI heard him say again,"The heart out of the bosomWas never given in vain;'Tis paid with sighs aplentyAnd sold for endless rue."And I am two-and-twenty,And Oh, 'tis true, 'tis true.

Some seed the bird devours, And some the season mars, But here and there will flower The solitary stars, And fields will yearly bear them, As light-leaved spring comes on, And luckless lads will wear them When I am dead and gone.

It is true the precious schoolboy is very nearly ridiculous, but a sacred respect for his proud free self is already growing up within him, a respect for everything that has been corroded in us by spiritual poverty and anxious paternal morality. We must go to the devil.

I can't understand these student fellows. They don't want to study. They brandish a red flag, and then shoot themselves. They don't want to understand what their parents must feel.

Our bombs are smarter than the average high school student. At least they can find Kuwait.

We didn't know we were creating memories, we were just having fun

So much of the Western tradition deals with the most despairing and angst-ridden emotions, but they're movies made for kids. It's as if America was trying to pass on an unpleasant but necessary lesson of life: that you were alone, and you needed to toughen up and shut up.

In America, immigration is the story of hope and achievement, of youth, of freedom, of creation. But all entrances on one stage are exits elsewhere.

It's all too easy to sneer at war tourism. Appending the word 'tourism' to any activity diminishes it, makes it ersatz, collective, prearranged. But the desire to make travelling more than a purely hedonistic or childish experience in search of warmth and food is a good thing, and the desire to understand the struggles of nations and the deaths of youths on their behalf must be important.

When I was One, I had just begun. When I was Two, I was nearly new. When I was Three I was hardly me. When I was Four, I was not much more. When I was Five, I was just alive. But now I am Six, I'm as clever as clever, So I think I'll be six now for ever and ever.

We didn't realize we were making memories, we just knew we were having fun.

Childhood is not the happiest time of one's life, but only to a child is pure happiness possible.

There, just inside the gates, was Mary. He was only six, but even then he knew that never would he see again anything so beautiful. She was five; but there was something in her manner of holding herself and the imperious tilt of her head which made her seem almost five-and-a-half. [From John Penquarto A Tale of Literary Life in London

Loveliest of Trees Loveliest of trees, the cherry now Is hung with bloom along the bough, And stands about the woodland ride Wearing white for Eastertide. Now, of my threescore years and ten, Twenty will not come again, And take from seventy springs a score, It only leaves me fifty more. And since to look at things in bloom Fifty springs are little room, About the woodlands I will go To see the cherry hung with snow.

Smart lad, to slip betimes away From fields where glory does not stay And early though the laurel grows It withers quicker than the rose.